Old Blood
by Procne and Mirani
Summary: [Set way after the HP books] Heritage has a way of coming back to haunt you: they just never thought it would decide to haunt them. [All OCs]
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is a completely OC fic. As much as I adore the canon characters, I would also take great joy in killing them all, and since I know better than to upset the fan mobs, we're just not going to have them in the fic at all. I win. **

The Americas were basically wizardless, always had been. Most wizards were European, and took great pride in that fact, especially the old families, and the pureblooded families. The area was so volatile – and, lately, prone to violence – that most avoided even visiting. Let the Muggles migrate there. The Wizards would stay right where they were.

But a few had gone over, because it is a rule that there is an exception to every rule. They had been poorer families, with diluted bloodlines, so much that wizards only appeared every few generations, generally with Muggle spouses who yearned for what was then the New World. Without other wizards, the blood continued to thin. It had gotten to the point where only one child in a thousand of the same bloodline would be able to use magic. There hadn't been a wizard in those two continents since before the American Revolution.

Except for Canada, but Canada was the wizarding world's exception to every rule. If something was impossible everywhere else, Canada had done it. Wizards had lived there for ages, perhaps before there had been wizards in Europe, a boast that the European wizards fervently denied. They had broken from the original Ministry of Magic and formed their own a few years ago. There had been a mass migration to the country shortly afterwards until the two Ministries put a stop to it. Communications with Canada were mostly closed now that they had their own wizarding school, but that was all right, since it wasn't Canada that was causing all the stir.

It was the United States that was worrying.

"There are fifteen children with wizarding abilities! Fifteen! When there hasn't been a witch or wizard there born in centuries!" The Minister of Magic – the one who held the original seat, not Canada's minister – was sweating like a pig, pacing back and forth in front of Headmaster Whittaker's desk. "The blood is so thin that even one would be amazing. Their grandparents are all Muggles. Their _grandparents' _grandparents are Muggles! They shouldn't have enough magic in them to lift a feather!" Miranda shuffled the papers on her desk, not even pretending to pay attention anymore. That fat oaf Gill had been saying the same thing for the last half hour, as though she hadn't been able to comprehend it the first time. She knew the odds of a wizard appearing with such thin blood, and they weren't good, but it seemed Fate was playing with loaded dice. She might as well get some work done as the Minister tried to huff himself into exhaustion. Until then, she wouldn't get a word in edgewise.

"They were all born within weeks of each other, too!" the Minister continued, waving his arms around for emphasis. That was new information: interesting, but not particularly useful, Miranda reflected.

"Minister?" she interrupted, but he simply talked right over her, ranting about how it wasn't possible and someone must be tampering with his reports and other such nonsense. She tried again. Nothing. "GILL!" she shouted, slamming a hand down on her desk. The Minister paused mid-word, mouth hanging open. "This is all fine and good, but I fail to see how it concerns me and my school. If you wanted to talk, there are people – _other _people, Mr. Gill – who would be happy to listen to you for hours on end. You'll forgive me for being blunt, but I have work to do, and unless this has a point, I'll throw you out of my office, Minister or not."

For a moment, Michael Gill was too stunned to say anything at all. He played with his small round glasses, mouth working soundlessly as he struggled for words. Suddenly, he found them. The Minister returned his glasses to their proper place on his chubby nose and glared indignantly at her. "My dear Headmistress," he began, spite seeping into his tone.

"Headmaster," she corrected, idly taking notes on her paper. They were really just scribbles, but it made Gill nervous. He seemed to think she was evaluating him or something. "'Headmistress' sounds much too prissy, and I'll not have my students think I'm going soft." She stared critically at him, waiting for a heated response. None came. "Please continue, Minister," she urged, when it seemed he'd given up on speaking completely.

Gill harrumphed loudly. "My point, _Headmaster_," he said, shoving as much venom into the title as he could, which really did nothing more for the word than make it nearly inaudible, "is that these children will have to be taught."

"Canada –"

"Won't hear of it. They've stopped talking with us on the subject entirely."

"Durmstrang and Beauxbatons –"

"I'm afraid the language barriers won't allow that, either."

Miranda chewed her bottom lip, mulling this over. She couldn't refuse – she thought that as though she had a choice in the matter: that alone was laughable – but she couldn't see it turning out well. Many of the students had their reservations about muggle-born wizards; she heard the term 'mudblood' thrown around more often than she'd like. She couldn't imagine what they'd think of _American _muggle-borns. With the increasing number of Squibs lately, and the sudden appearance of Wizards across the Atlantic, it wouldn't be long before the Prophet decided that the Americans were using Dark Magic to take over the wizarding world. She sighed. That was just the sort of foolishness that the Daily Prophet was famed for, and the poor children would take the brunt of the inane controversies such an article would cause.

"Yes, of course, they'll be coming here." She scribbled angrily on the paper in front of her, trying not to let her annoyance show on her face. "When should I expect them? This year? Next?"

"Erm..." Miranda looked up to see the Minister shuffling his feet, idly looking the other way.

"Spill it, man. I've no time for this," she snapped.

"Save extenuating circumstances, they shouldn't be here for another decade," Gill explained, putting on his best politician's face like he did when he was worried. Miranda nearly fell from her chair.

"One? These children are _one?_" she shouted incredulously. All graces were forgotten, shoved away by surprise. "Even pureblooded children don't start showing signs until they're two or three! Lately it's been five. And you're telling me these kids have drawn the ministry's attention at _one year old?_" The Ministry didn't take an interest in muggle-born witches and wizards until they turned eleven unless they did something extraordinary. For them to notice all fifteen... "Bloody hell, Michael, we should be training them now!"

He smiled weakly at her. "I'm afraid I've been overruled on this one, Miranda."

She sniffed disdainfully. "You're the Minister. Overrule them back."

"If only I could, Headmis— Headmaster. You have work to do," he said, glancing at her pile of scrolls. "I'll leave you to it." With that he swept out the door, leaving her alone in her all-too-quiet office with all-too-many things to think about.

She waited until she couldn't hear his footsteps anymore before slamming her head against her desk, reciting every swear word she knew – and a few she'd made up – until she felt better. The Headmaster was there for a very, very long time...

**Hooray for prologues! 8D Chapter one proper will be up in a day or two. No promises on chapter two -- I'm easily distracted. Constructive criticism is my one true love. Just in case you were wondering.**


	2. Chapter 1: Emily

July 2nd. Emily chucked the calendar across her room; it lay splayed silently on the floor, though she glared at it as though it might suddenly jump up and attack her. It was her birthday, and nothing exciting had happened. In previous years, her parents had brought her breakfast early in the morning, but both of them had been called on urgent business to work, and her brother had summer school this year, the idiot, so he wasn't home, either. They hadn't even left presents where she could find them. She knew she was being selfish – some people didn't get anything for their birthdays – but she couldn't bring herself to care. It was her day, and they should have been there.

She supposed she should have expected it: eleven wasn't a significant age. Ten had been, since it was double-digits, and sixteen would be, but eleven was just in the way. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember Jacob's eleventh birthday. That probably meant that it had passed with about as much ceremony as hers was receiving now. At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

In any case, the house was empty except for Emily. Well, almost empty. Her cat Victoria yowled every once and a while to remind her of that fact, and to inform her that beating up the calendar was not getting either of them any breakfast. The brown-haired girl sighed. "I'm coming," she called to the animal, which skipped off down the hall to sit impatiently by her bowl. She used to fancy she could understand the animal, back when she was younger, but time had disillusioned her. Well, time and Jacob. Her brother had a talent for bluntness, and took a certain amount of joy in shattering her dreams. It was the only thing he was good at, so Emily forgave him – and hid something nasty in his bed after each offense. It was their unspoken agreement: he got to cause emotional damage, and she got to cause physical damage. So far, the ambulances had always arrived in the nick of time, and neither of them had been arrested, so they figured their social arrangements were working just fine.

But not even Jay could explain the voice she heard only when her cat was around, the one with the slight purr in it and a yowling quality when it was annoyed. "You're just psycho," Jacob had told her with a shrug. "Don't worry – they have nice padded rooms for people like you. You'll be fine." She had kicked him in the shins hard enough that he'd limped for a week, but she couldn't help but think he was right. No one else heard it, so she must be making it up. When she was alone, though, she pretended it _was_ Victoria talking to her, because that was easier than ignoring the voice, especially when it was the only other sound in the house.

_Food! Now would be good. Goodness, woman, if you silly creatures had four legs, you'd move faster. _Victoria flicked her tail irritably, her bright yellow eyes narrowing dangerously as they followed Emily around the room.

"Keep your fur on," she scolded. "I can't find the cat food, and I'm sure you don't want my Cheerios."

_Is there milk?_

"No."

_Then you're right: I don't want the Cheerios._

Emily grunted and returned to her search, finally finding something that resembled cat food enough that Victoria would eat it. The mailbox outside clanked as the mailman came by, but Emily ignored it, plopping in front of the television intending to gorge herself on breakfast cereal. The grey tabby tilted her head questioningly to one side. _Aren't you gonna get that?_

Emily stared blankly at the door. "Why should I?"

_Its what you humans normally do. I assumed it was interesting, else it wouldn't happen every day._ She shrugged, as well as a cat could shrug, and returned to her meal.

She thought it over for a moment, flipping channels as she ate. Well, it _could_ be interesting, Emily decided eventually, dropping her box of Cheerios and walking to the door. It was her birthday, there might be cards for her. Cards with money inside. She liked those best.

She sifted through the mail as soon as she picked it up, not bothering to go inside before looking. Bills, credit card offers, catalogues, a magazine full of absurd weaponry – "How'd Jay talk mom into that?" she wondered aloud, pocketing it – spam, all the usual stuff. Nothing that looked remotely like a birthday card, money filled or otherwise. Dismayed, she checked again, and saw a letter she'd missed. Emily snatched it up, looking it over carefully.

_Come inside! _Victoria yowled. _And close the stupid door! You're letting all the cool air out._ The brown-haired girl rolled her eyes, but obeyed, dropping the mail on the floor as she entered.

All but the one letter. That she kept in her hands. It was strange: the envelope itself looked weatherworn and brand new at the same time, far from the pristine white of the letters that now littered the floor. And it had no stamp, so by all rights, it shouldn't have been delivered at all. And it was addressed to her, and her alone – it even listed her room on there, as though she were in an apartment, not a house. And then there was the seal... No one sealed their letters anymore, and if they did, it wasn't with wax, much less bright red wax. Someone had read one too many fantasy novels before constructing this letter; the flowing handwriting on the front was practically calligraphy, and the large 'H' imprinted into the wax was like the seal of some noble's house, or something. It was almost too ridiculous to open.

Emily broke the seal with her thumb and slid the letter out, holding both the letter and the envelope in one hand as she grabbed her cereal. Neither remained in her hands long. She threw the letter to the floor roughly, having skimmed it over and deciding it was some sort of joke. She hardly noticed the second piece of parchment that detached itself from the letter as it fell. The Cheerios received a touch more care in their decent, though they still managed to spill across the carpet. "Jay!" she shouted, storming through the house indiscriminately. Victoria looked at her quizzically and followed. "You can come out! It's not funny!"

_Dearest Jacob isn't here, _the cat said, her nose wrinkling with amusement.

"Hush. He is!" Emily insisted. "He wouldn't plant a prank letter without being able to see the reaction. JAY!" she screeched. Victoria's ears flattened against her head.

_If he was here, I would know, _she said sourly. _Maybe it's not a prank._

"Of course it is! Here, come see." Emily stomped back into the living room, the tabby on her heels, and snatched up the offending letter, pointing angrily at it so Victoria could see what upset her so much. "A school for witchcraft? It's stupid! Just the sort of silliness 'Dearest Jacob' would come up with. I'm _not _a witch."

_You talk to cats. Is witchcraft such a big jump?_

"I don't talk to cats!"

_Really? You mean I've been imagining these last few minutes? _Victoria purred a laugh. _Damn. And you were such a good conversation partner._

"Go to hell!" Emily growled.

_No, thanks. I like the cold._

The girl threw up her hands in exasperation as Victoria began to calmly wash her paws. _Calm down, _she told herself. She had to think. If Jay was here, he would have come out by now: he always made fun of her for her kitty conversations, and he wouldn't miss the opportunity now. So, it hadn't been his letter. She should've guessed, she supposed. All the spelling was correct, and the handwriting was too pretty to be her brother's. Then who? Paper crunched quietly under her foot. She looked curiously at it. That hadn't been there before...

It was a supply list, sporting the same paper and handwriting as the letter. A quick look made it clear that none of her friends had sent the letter either: none were nearly inventive enough, and even _she _didn't recognize a few of the words (transfiguration and phial came to mind).

_I'll take the toad, if you decide don't want it, _Victoria commented, reading over her shoulder.

"It's not real," Emily said stubbornly, but she could feel her conviction waning. The letter said there was someone informing her parents right now – when they got home, she'd prove to the tabby that this was foolishness. Assuming it was foolishness... No, the letter was fake, and that was that. She looked sideways at Victoria. "What would _you _do with a toad?"

Victoria grinned wolfishly and stalked off without answering.

-------

As it turned out, someone _had _been talking with her parents about the letter, and before she knew it, she'd been whisked off to London for school supplies, gotten a wand – eight and a half inches, ash, dragon heartstring for the core; the store's owner had remarked that it was springy, but in Emily's experience, wood was never springy – and was now dragging a trunk that weighed more than she did through King's Cross station with a very annoyed tabby perched on top. Victoria was complaining that the humidity made her fur all frizzy. Emily was complaining that Victoria was complaining. After a while, they were both just complaining for the sake of complaining.

Platform nine and three quarters didn't exist, she'd come to that conclusion a while back and had decided not to dwell on it. They could've included a map, or an explanation or something, but no. Well, if she missed the train, it was their fault. There was no train that left at eleven, no platform, and no one who seemed remotely wizardy.

_We're never going to find the train, and then we'll be stuck here, and then we'll _starveVictoria wailed, burying her head in her paws.

"Thank you for that cheery prediction," Emily muttered bitterly. "Are you done with the drama, or should I leave you with some traveling actors?"

Victoria seemed to sense that Emily was in the sort of mood that she really meant it. _I'm done_, she meowed, but the brown haired girl wasn't listening anymore. She was peering curiously at the crowds, watching, in particular, an older boy with a trunk larger than hers. She must've blinked, because in an instant, he'd disappeared.

"What?" Emily scurried to where he'd last been standing, right by the barrier between platforms nine and ten. He couldn't have gone anywhere! The crowds were too thick, and there was a blasted wall in the way the other direction! She told the tabby, who suggested the wall ate him. Emily rolled her eyes and leaned against the barrier.

At least, she tried to. She leaned, and the wall very simply wasn't there. She groped for her trunk, grabbing the handle in an attempt to stabilize herself, but she only managed to pull it through with her. And then the wall was in front of her, in the same ugly brick, and looking as solid as it had before. "What. The. Hell."

_It ate you!_ Victoria exclaimed. Sensing impending drama, Emily shot a glare at the cat, reminding her what happened to excitable felines. The tabby wrinkled her nose and shifted gears instantly. _That was very rude of it,_ she commented.

Emily couldn't help but laugh as she turned to see where they had ended up. The platform! And there was the train, in it's ridiculous bright red glory. All she had to do was get eaten by a rouge wall in the station. Great. She wouldn't forget that one quickly.

_It's the train!_ Victoria had apparently decided to stop grumbling at the wall and turn around.

"Yes, that would be the train," Emily agreed.

_We won't starve!_

"You might, if I leave you here."

Victoria sneezed – or was that a laugh? _Please. You couldn't get rid of me if you wanted to. I'm _much_ craftier than you, dear Em._

Emily shrugged her shoulders, trying to shake the idea that her own cat was stalking her. She dragged her trunk and loaded it sloppily onto the train. Victoria had to scramble to get away before she got locked in the luggage compartment, keeping close on Emily's heels as she climbed onto the train herself.

All of the compartments already had people in them, but considering how close the train was to leaving, that didn't come as a surprise. One compartment had only a black haired boy in it, but he shot a death glare at her over the top of his book, so she passed that compartment by. The last had only two people in it: a tall girl with light brown hair, and a long-haired blonde boy who was staring dreamily out the window. "Can I sit here?" Emily asked, peeking around the door.

"Sure!" the girl said cheerily. Emily suppressed a shudder. The green-eyed girl's voice was practically _oozing _sweetness. It was sickening.

She put on a happy face, or at least one that was less disgusted. She gestured at the boy. "Does he care?"

"Him? I don't think he knows he's still on a train. He's been like that since I got here," the girl said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

_Bet he'd notice if we threw things at him,_ Victoria purred. Emily snorted. The tabby hopped onto the bench and sat primly in the middle beside the other girl so that Emily would have to stand, or sit next to the daydreamer on the other side. Thankfully, she didn't have to make that decision.

"Oh! What a cute kitty!" the green-eyed girl exclaimed, throwing her arms around Victoria, who barely managed to wriggle away. She leapt over and huddled near the still oblivious boy, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Oops. Does she not like people?"

"She likes people just fine, it's hugs that bother her, I think."

Victoria was bristling with indignation. _Who gave that silly girl the idea that cats _like_ hugs? You hug dogs! Dogs! Not cats! Do I look like a dog to you?_

"Oh, okay. So she does that all the time?" the girl asked.

"What, complain?" Emily knew it was the wrong thing to say just as she'd finished saying it.

"No... Meow like that." The girl cocked her head to one side, her hair falling lightly across her face. "I guess it does sound like she's complaining, though." She reached out to Victoria, who backed away and hissed. The girl snatched her hand back. "Oh, dear." She directed her hand at Emily. "I'm Amelia. Amelia Reynolds."

Emily took it hesitantly. "Emily Hightower," she replied. "The cat's Victoria."

_I'd say it's nice to meet you, but I have this thing against lying,_ the tabby said sourly.

"_Aaaaahhh!_" The boy screamed and fell off the bench, ending up sprawled on the floor of the compartment. "Wh-where did the cat come from?" Victoria wrinkled her nose in amusement. The boy looked around wildly. "Wh-where did you two come from? It was _empty_ I'm sure it was! I thought I locked it, I'm sure I locked it, didn't I lock it?" Emily and Victoria collapsed in hysterics simultaneously. Amelia looked horrified.

"Oh, you did lock it, really, I had the conductor come and unlock it, I'm sorry, but there wasn't anywhere else to sit, you understand, I hope we didn't scare you. Are you all right? You want to get up off the floor? It can't be safe, being on the floor, you know, what if the train starts? You should really stand up." She spoke more quickly than Emily thought humanly possible, but it seemed to calm the boy down, at least. He stood, albeit a little shakily, and tried to sit down...on top of Victoria.

Emily couldn't help laughing: she hadn't seen anything this comical in years. The boy jumped up and practically danced around the compartment, while Victoria jumped onto Amelia, digging her claws in and causing the girl to scream and jump around as well. When it was all over, and it took a while, the very annoyed tabby was sitting next to her, fighting the urge to scratch the lot of them, the boy was shaking nervously, and Amelia was leading him to another compartment, explaining that it was probably best if they left the 'pretty kitty' alone for a while. Emily waved them away with a giggle; Amelia sniffed disdainfully as she left.

_The whole school had better not be like this, _Victoria growled.

"Oh, I don't know. I think it might be fun."

Victoria bit Emily's finger and refused to talk to her for the rest of the train ride, which made the rest of the trip rather quiet and uninteresting. Emily got her back, though: she threw a chocolate frog at her. A _melted_ chocolate frog. The tabby spent the better part of the day trying to clean it out of her fur. Well, it made Emily feel better. She figured that was all that counted.

-------

**Blah. Sorry that took so long. Phil was giving me heck. You don't know Phil (he's in the next chapter – a lot of stuff got jumbled around and/or deleted. Yeah. He gave me **_**that much **_**heck) but you will. Happy reading! (Reviews are love!)**


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